If you kill someone in a video game can you go to hell?
I chew on things...alot. Weired things too like caps from gallons of milk or the little seal that you have to tear off. I don't think anyones eversaid anything to me about it either which might be even stranger.
something I cooked up in the lab check it if yah want...criticizers will be shot on sight....HA! just playin its all welcome
----------
He sat there again, staring at his empty glass. Boredom had ran its course and seeped into his cracks. The others were busy. They were always busy and never bored. Their lives were endless projects and plans. They were filled with a vast sea of hope in which all one had to do was learn to swim. It was as easy as that.
His life on the other hand was seasoned with the blandness of time and the tastelessness of waiting. Waiting for something to happen, anything. He blamed this on some force outside himself, a nameless nonmoving entity of monotony. His life was plagued with it and he suffered greatly. Time was the festering wound of his consciousness. It made him bitter and cold. His jaded sensibilities were seen as credible to those who knew no better but in reality they were shit, the byproduct of self-hate and confusion. Blame was shifted on others and his outlook of humanity was grim.
It wasnt always this way; time had worn away at his hope. Crushed it with its immense power. This loss was painful; it was the loss of purpose and for that he hated. He hated others for their lack of understanding, for not seeing the world as he; blatantly wrong and full of hypocrisy. His perception was his savior and his tormentor. It gave him the power to cut to the core and analyze what was before him. But it was the same ability that haunted him, allowing him to scrutinize what was inside himself. He loathed what he saw and he despised himself most of all. He was no better than anyone. He was caught in the same dogmatic traps of ideology as those around him.
This hatred of everything was his only outlet from the despicable boredom, which beleaguered his world. He found nourishment in it and it became his medicine, the only thing that kept him sane. This outlet provided him countless moments of joy and so called epitomys. Deep down he understood them to be superficial and he often sunk into darkness as he realized his own stupidity but he kept them anyway. There was nothing else he could do. Pain or comfort, love or hate, all were the same. They were just temporary moments of mental ejaculation in which the mind was set free of the unending boredom of its world. He existed on the self a plane in which any release was welcomed. Hate was easier than love, pain was more frequent than comfort and he was the slave of their conditioning. The pleasure released from a long awaited piss was no different than a lovers embrace. Everything was an escape and only the release mattered. Stagnation had taken control of the world.
I chew on things...alot. Weired things too like caps from gallons of milk or the little seal that you have to tear off. I don't think anyones eversaid anything to me about it either which might be even stranger.
something I cooked up in the lab check it if yah want...criticizers will be shot on sight....HA! just playin its all welcome
----------
He sat there again, staring at his empty glass. Boredom had ran its course and seeped into his cracks. The others were busy. They were always busy and never bored. Their lives were endless projects and plans. They were filled with a vast sea of hope in which all one had to do was learn to swim. It was as easy as that.
His life on the other hand was seasoned with the blandness of time and the tastelessness of waiting. Waiting for something to happen, anything. He blamed this on some force outside himself, a nameless nonmoving entity of monotony. His life was plagued with it and he suffered greatly. Time was the festering wound of his consciousness. It made him bitter and cold. His jaded sensibilities were seen as credible to those who knew no better but in reality they were shit, the byproduct of self-hate and confusion. Blame was shifted on others and his outlook of humanity was grim.
It wasnt always this way; time had worn away at his hope. Crushed it with its immense power. This loss was painful; it was the loss of purpose and for that he hated. He hated others for their lack of understanding, for not seeing the world as he; blatantly wrong and full of hypocrisy. His perception was his savior and his tormentor. It gave him the power to cut to the core and analyze what was before him. But it was the same ability that haunted him, allowing him to scrutinize what was inside himself. He loathed what he saw and he despised himself most of all. He was no better than anyone. He was caught in the same dogmatic traps of ideology as those around him.
This hatred of everything was his only outlet from the despicable boredom, which beleaguered his world. He found nourishment in it and it became his medicine, the only thing that kept him sane. This outlet provided him countless moments of joy and so called epitomys. Deep down he understood them to be superficial and he often sunk into darkness as he realized his own stupidity but he kept them anyway. There was nothing else he could do. Pain or comfort, love or hate, all were the same. They were just temporary moments of mental ejaculation in which the mind was set free of the unending boredom of its world. He existed on the self a plane in which any release was welcomed. Hate was easier than love, pain was more frequent than comfort and he was the slave of their conditioning. The pleasure released from a long awaited piss was no different than a lovers embrace. Everything was an escape and only the release mattered. Stagnation had taken control of the world.
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
freckle:
i'm extra stupid. i studied and i *still* failed.
freckle:
i'm totally over the hill, especially in irish years.